


Under My Tree

by inkandimpalas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas Themed, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn With Plot, Prompt Fill, Some Plot, panty!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandimpalas/pseuds/inkandimpalas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt fill for theboykingandhisangel. Sam and Cas are exchanging gifts though Cas' gift to Sam turns out to be both surprising and a little eye-opening for the both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under My Tree

**Author's Note:**

> So uh yeah, this turned out to be a lot longer than projected so I thought I'd post it up here. It's pretty cheesy and mushy splashed with a little smut so always good? Uh, yeah enjoy

**Prompt Fill:** Under My Tree

It was Christmas Eve in the bunker, and things were certainly not going as Sam had originally planned. 

“What the hell-.”

He was greeted with a pair of lace panties, crimson red and far too dainty, topped with the touch of a little white bow stuck precariously against the trim. The kind of garment you’d see plastered all over Victoria’s Secret catalogues on skinny women with too much airbrushing, or on mannequins in the front windows of stag shops. Panties that Sam would never have assumed having been presented with, and certainly not by the ex angel sitting across from him on the living room floor. 

Maybe it had been the eggnog, or the fact that Dean left to get pie over two hours prior and still hadn’t returned. The circumstances were clearly in favor of more suggestive activities if such were deemed fit by both parties, not that Sam would have assumed anything of the sort. Just that, how things had come this far was something he still had to take a few seconds to mull over, brows raised and lips parted. 

“You do not like them,” Castiel said, hands pulling back as if to take the offending article with them. His eyes were wide in the wake of the Christmas tree, bright and blue and still shaded by thin brown lashes. Eyes that were more offending than a pair of lace panties could ever be for the simple fact that they hid nothing. 

And truth be told, it wasn’t the panties Sam found himself intimidated by. 

“Cas,” his voice sounded breathless even to him, fingers gripping the carpet underneath him. The gift he’d been meaning to give Castiel was now left abandoned under the lower bristles of the tree, no longer seeming to be of any great concern to either party. “Fuck, why would you-.”

It must’ve been enough of an admonition for Cas to lean forward, causing the hunter to fall back against his elbows. He crawled up close enough that his legs could slide over the breadth of Sam’s jaunty hips. And Castiel straddled him so that he could puff a hot breath against the younger man’s lips, calm and precise and careful. Always careful. 

“I want you to feel beautiful,” he said in that deep drawl of a voice, no expression other than the glint in those wide, cerulean orbs. 

“I don’t need to feel beautiful.” But his words held no conviction. Not with those lips mere inches from his own. 

He felt them skim along his jaw then, just the briefest brush of skin that brought an eruption of bumps along his forearms, and thighs. A curse of sensitive flesh made more so by the change in pace. The words Cas spoke were like kryptonite. 

“Yes, you do. You are beautiful, Sam Winchester. You have always been beautiful.”

Maybe it had been the eggnog which they both had far too much of, or Dean’s sudden disappearance, or even the fact that it was Christmas eve and if Sam could have asked for anything it would have been those five words. But in that moment when his mouth met with Castiel’s, softer and more compliant than he’d ever let himself be, it was on a tide that screamed acceptance. Of the gesture, of the sentiment, but most importantly, of himself. 

“I’ll wear them,” he murmured against Cas’ mouth which hadn’t, till that moment, attempted anything past the gentle touch of skin. It brought the coloured flush back to his cheeks, hot with nerves and perspiration. “If you, uh, want me too, I’ll wear ‘em.”

Castiel nodded, just as breathless. 

After what appeared to be a mess of limbs and confusion, Sam finally managed to slip his gangly legs out from under Castiel, heading his way towards the bathroom then with the pair of panties secured in the clutch of his fist. He didn’t turn back in fear he would see the flash of blue eyes on him, watching him in that same way he always had from the very start. Cas always looked concerned when he stared. Always worried. It had been a reason why Sam had never felt comfortable for long. 

But he tried to shake this thought off as he headed into the bathroom, dropping the article on the countertop before leaning against the sink. It wasn’t that Cas was incapable if believing in him. During the course of their relationship, he’d seen Cas fight for him in ways only Dean had ever attempted. The ex angel had risked his life on countless occasions to protect someone who’d only ever been the boy with demon blood. 

But that worry, that fear. Yeah, Castiel was willing to fight for him. Just sometimes he feared Cas was afraid for him too. 

“ _Damn_ ,” he hissed, staring at his flushed expression in the mirror, still swimming with rum but also with the knowingness of what he was about to do. The embarrassment of it too. “Fuck.”

Finally, and with a little effort on his part, Sam unhooked his belt and dropped his jeans a little too mechanically. He took the briefs with them, trying not to think about it anymore than he needed to because he was too afraid of backing out, and it seemed the more he thought about it, the more likely he would be to do exactly that. So, instead, he took the panties in hand and attempted to slide them up over his long, slender legs, mindful of the way they pulled taut across his skin. Mindful of how small they were when he attempted to position his flaccid cock in them, ever aware that they weren’t meant for him. 

But they sure did look pornographic. 

It wasn’t a matter of his wanting to wear women’s clothing that had spurned the hot flush back in his cheeks, or how his fists had curled against the edge of the counter as not to reach down and cover his indecency. Sam had never felt the immediate urge to look like anything but himself. Just, in light of the present circumstances, he couldn’t help but like how the lace felt across his oversensitive skin, and how it looked when strung tightly across his thin hips. Hell, he even liked the touch of the plastic bow he hadn’t removed in the process, perched just below his left hipbone like a present just waiting to be unwrapped. Sam lifted his plaid shirt just a little, examining the smooth panel of skin below his navel, and he couldn’t help but admire the way it looked. The way it couldn’t have been him. 

No, Sam wasn’t unaware of his aesthetics, but he certainly wasn’t ready to admit he was anything more than a killer either. At least, not until then. 

He quickly pulled his jeans back up, careful not to detach or crumple the bow in the process, and all the while he felt the fabric move across his skin giving just the right amount of friction. Just enough pressure for his growing arousal. 

And surely enough, he was getting off on this. 

“They’re, uh, they’re on,” he said when he returned, hands dipped back in his pockets as if to differ the idea of anything being concealed under the denim. He knew his posture was too straight, his steps too small to be unnoticed. After all, every movement caused the fabric to shift and his knowingness of its presence to become more and more prominent. 

Cas, who hadn’t moved from his spot under the tree, merely watched with a look of interest, but also expressionlessness. To some, it may have been hard to read Castiel’s emotions, but Sam had had years to study. 

When the younger man got close enough, Castiel lifted himself up with ease and grace. 

“Do you feel beautiful now?” he asked, pausing so that his eyes could drift unceremoniously down. Enough that Sam gulped, uncomfortable with the implication it held. “Do they make you feel loved?”

It was a strange question. One that took him off guard. 

“I feel uncomfortable,” he admitted, shifting from one foot to the other, staring towards the tree instead of the shameless eye-contact Cas was such a fan of. “And weird. This, er, this isn’t really something I’ve ever done before so I’m just kind of trying to get used to it, y’know?” 

Castiel’s lips pulled taut, brows furrowing for a moment as he digested the new information but before him. After a long, almost exasperating pause, he spoke with deliberation. “The sales woman at the Love Shop informed me these would make you feel beautiful. I assumed someone with experience would be of optimal use, but it seems I may have misunderstood.”

Sam’s lips parted, then closed, brows raised. It made more sense then he was willing to admit, and when the bubble of laughter began to spill up and over his lips, the reality of the situation became almost explicitly clear. He couldn’t help but keel over from the sheer thought of it all, hands against his abdomen. “You bought me panties from the _Love Shop_?”

There was that confused look again, lips pursed and the furrow seeming to deepen ever further. “I was under the impression that it was customary to give intimate gifts to impress upon the ones you love that you love them. Have I not been apt in my choices?”

It was such a question that his laughter died out almost instantly, expression falling as he took a moment to drink in the sight of Cas’ confusion, but more so his sincerity. The way his eyes were imploring and ever searching for confirmation or how his lips pursed in such a manner that he’d wanted to kiss them smooth and pliant once more. 

It was overwhelming in every sense of the word. 

“You’ve never said you loved me before,” Sam said, fists curling in the pockets of his jeans. He looked at his feet. 

It was a slow unraveling then. First, those fingers that grasped his chin, then those lips that melded into his own, hot and warm and deeper than the simple brush of skin. Cas tasted like peppermint candy canes and just a hint of Sailor Jerry’s.

And he was just as handsy as always, fingers dipping through belt loops and body leaning in ever closer. Castiel had liked contact more than either Winchester expected him too, always pining for warmth, for comfort. Pining because even when burdened with grace and goodness, Cas cared deeply and it was that crack in him that amplified when he became human. It needed, and he needed too. 

“We should take this upstairs,” Sam murmured against Cas’ lips, breaking contact for just a moment in his breathlessness. “Dean could be home any minute.”

Castiel smiled at this, up on his toes so he could press his lips against Sam’s jaw instead, teeth nicking along the sensitive flesh. “Dean has done me a kindness. He won’t be home for another couple hours.”

Sam barely registered these words because Cas’ fingers were prying at the button on his jeans, not sparing a moment to think it through. And hell, he certainly wasn’t about to start thinking about it either if he could avoid it. 

“I want to see,” he mumbled, eyes downturned as he fumbled with the zipper. It was a bit clumsy, but his determination made up for it. At least, to Sam it did. He smiled, leaning down so he could capture those lips once more, teeth nicking at the plush of Cas’ smooth upper one. 

His jeans pooled at his ankles, the lace fabric exposed next to the twinkling tree lights. 

If the panties looked pornographic before, downright filthy was the only way to describe them now, pulled tauter by his growing arousal which was now pushing up over the thin elastic waistband, angling towards the right hipbone. Sam was willing himself desperately not to cover up his indecency then, because Castiel was watching him like a cat would a bird, hands grabbing at the hem of his shirt which they lifted only slightly. Only enough to reveal how utterly into it he was, and how shameful it made him feel. 

He bit his lip, sucking in a deep breath when Cas looked up again, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide. 

“If I had to choose all over again,” he said, voice raspy and low. Thick with his own arousal. “I still would have fallen. For you Sam, I would choose to die.”

It shouldn’t have been so poignant. Not when Cas was unbuttoning his shirt with those fumbling hands, desperate to remove the article from Sam’s person, like he couldn’t wait to feel skin against him. Like he couldn’t wait for the huff of Sam’s breath against his neck, his lips. 

When the plaid shirt had been abandoned and Sam had stepped out from the fabric at his ankles, Cas urged him down slowly, whispering sweet nothings that Sam could barely hear but reached for nonetheless. It was strange, being coddled, as if the ex angel had been trying to sooth him into each transition. Taking his time as not to spook the younger man into an upstart. And it was careful, each touch deliberate till Sam was on the floor, angled under the lower bristles of the Christmas tree, breaths shallow and heart hammering. 

He was being touched. His thighs, his hipbones. Pads of fingers skimming along the expanses, dipping into crevices and coming up his body like it deserved to be caressed in such a manner. He was nervous, and excited, and filled with immense anticipation. 

“Please,” the word was soft on his lips. A breath. “Cas, please.”

Castiel didn’t even bother undressing after those words. 

It was quick, because it was needed. Quick because it was desperate and new and all the things it shouldn’t be but was. Cas had barely had the chance to undo his jeans before he was slotting himself up against Sam’s length through lace, groaning with newfound friction and incessant need. Sam gasped in response, grasping at the ex angel’s ass urging him to move faster, stronger. Anything to keep the sparks flying high as he felt. Higher than he’d felt in a long time. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, toes curling at a particularly sharp thrust. “God damn, Cas. Give it to me. Come on, _give it to me_.”

The sharp rutting had stilled long enough for Cas to growl something inconsequential, his own hands pulling Sam’s away from where they could control the pace up on either side of the hunters head. He then slotted his fingers between them tightly while his thrusts became long and languid, hips churning in small figure eights before knocking directly forward, flaring up different levels of sensation. All willing moans and gasps whilst he ground himself down.

Sam was close, his own grasp tightening to the point he was near positive it must have been painful to the ex angel, and his back was arching up with each thrust, wishing Cas would have taken the time to remove his sweater so he could feel him. All of him. All the time, always. He wanted Cas on him, in him, in his bed, next to him on the couch. Wanted a New Years kiss or a movie night with Dean and Charlie, or a fucking band around his finger because it seemed to him then that more than anything Cas made him happy. 

Even at the edge, feeling the moment take him to that final release he’d been pining for since the moment he’d slipped those panties on, it was more than just about feeling beautiful, or deserving, or all the things he was certain he needed to learn to believe about himself. It was about feeling loved, and Christmas be damned, he certainly felt that way then.

\--


End file.
